Key
by zippystripe
Summary: It's the day of Lynsey's funeral, and Brendan finds a moment for himself. Brendan POV, Stendan.


He'd just needed to get away.

Cheryl was still at the wake; Lynsey's family and would you believe it? Even their dad had turned up to give her the send-off she deserved. Cheryl was in good hands, though he'd still felt the need to be there for her. It was what good brothers did… but throwing the rose into her grave, to see it land upon her coffin, his baby sister crying her eyes out, Lynsey's family not much better, sitting in the church while the priest spoke about his friend- adopted sister, he'd called her, because she was- almost broke him. But Brendan Brady did not cry. At least not in public, while he was wearing the suit and tie; the costume he wore as the Kingpin. He just didn't do that.

Steven had been sitting beside him in the church. He'd felt odd, like he was intruding, sitting up at the front with all of Lynsey's closest friends and family, but Brendan had insisted that he come and sit beside him. He didn't think he'd have been able to sit through it without cracking… he didn't really know what it meant to need him there, or why he'd insisted. He just needed him, inexplicably, that maddening need he still couldn't figure out. Being Brendan Brady meant that he protected the people he loved, but it often left him wondering who was looking out for him… for years he'd just figured that he looked out for himself, and so far he was doing a pretty good job of it.

But as he sat there in the church, letting out a shaky breath and squeezing his sister's hand as she leant against their father, his arm around her shoulders protectively, willing his eyes to stay dry during the emotional service… he'd felt another hand over his much like how he was holding his sister's. He glanced over at the man beside him in faint surprise, sitting at the end of the bench, smiling at him sadly. His grip had subconsciously tightened around his, fumbling shakily, pathetically, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.

Steven didn't mind; he knew, somehow, that the younger man understood, didn't mind if he squeezed his hand until it went numb, and was trying to communicate that without words. It struck him then, the strange sight of his hands gripping his sister's, and Steven's hand wrapped around his on his knee.

He supposed that was his answer.

[~]

He stood outside the hall they'd rented for the wake, around the back in the little courtyard which desperately needed resurfacing; the concrete was covered in cracks with little weeds springing out of them; where there were a few large metal trolleys used for transporting supplies. A few empty crates were nearby; obviously left behind by some catering company. Some rubbish here and there. A wasteland. Exactly what he needed right now.

He leant against the brick wall behind him and sighed, staring up at the grey, overcast sky. Winter was well on the way. Suited him. He needed emptiness. He needed the apathy. He closed his eyes and levelled his breathing. It was silent apart from the music from inside the hall. They were playing Lynsey's favourite songs…

He was so deep in thought about her that he almost didn't notice the door squeaking open near his head. Out stepped Steven, in his grey suit. He closed the door behind him and then went to lean against the wall behind Brendan with a quiet "Hiyer,". He glanced at him and eyed him up. If only he was a snappier dresser; he looked good a suit.

"I'd ask if you were alright, but that's probably a bit of a stupid question."

Brendan grunted.

"You look a lot like your dad, you know."

Brendan chuckled quietly and shook his head. When he opened his eyes, they were wet. Ste was silent, but Brendan could feel his eyes on him.

"She was a good girl." Did his voice just break?

He felt that hand again, sliding around his wrist and down to his hand. Brendan surprised himself by grabbing for it a bit blindly. God, is this what they did now? He bit his lip, looking at the floor with his heart in his throat, as he tried to hold back the tears and bite back the sobs.

Steven was looking at him, and he pushed away from the wall slowly to stand in front of him. He pressed his finger under Brendan's stubbly chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. He was taken aback by the pain he saw there; he'd seen Brendan upset before, but not like this, not so… broken. Weak, completely helpless. Nonetheless, he spoke again.

"Brendan," he began, "I know you inside out. I know your darkest secrets and your biggest weaknesses. I've seen you at your best and your worst. I care about you." He paused, licked his lips and stared him right in the eyes, his hands on either side of his face. "You don't need to be strong for me," he whispered.

Finally giving in, Brendan slowly slid his arms around him. Ste pressed himself closer to the older man, holding him in much the same way he had when it had first hit him that Lynsey, his best friend, his sister, was gone. Only this time, Brendan buried his face into Ste's shoulder and silently, he sobbed. The floodgates were open like they'd never been before.

They stood like that for a good few minutes, Ste stroking the back of his head and whispering in his ear, saying whatever he could to comfort the older man, even though he knew it was pointless, because there was nothing he could say or do to make it better. Tentatively, Brendan moved away from his shoulder and rested his hot forehead against the younger man's, breathing heavily. He opened his eyes, and they were bluer than usual thanks to the redness around them, and stared into Steven's. The younger man leaned in a bit further, until their noses touched, and closed his eyes. Brendan did the same and they kissed. It was not their usual lip-lock, instead of trying devour each other this was gentle, slow and emotional, never to be mentioned again. Unspoken, like much between them.

When he pulled away from him, Ste reached into his pocket for a tissue and wiped at Brendan's face, until the older man took it from him and did it himself with a, "Fucking hell, Steven, I'm a grown man not a toddler," and gave a lopsided, sombre smile, not yet able to meet his eyes.

"I know you are," Ste said softly, smiling back at him, and stroked the side of his face with his thumb.

"I needed… this," he confessed after a moment's silence, gesturing between them vaguely.

"Me too," Ste replied quietly. Something deep moved in his eyes then, but Brendan couldn't quite identify what.

Brendan furrowed his brow, but didn't question it. Instead, he pointed to Ste's rather wet shoulder. "Sorry about that," he said.

"It's alright. It'll dry." He brushed at the fabric absently. "If you go in before me we can just pretend I was comforting someone else out here," he added.

"Are ye a mind reader now?" Brendan asked- he knew it would've looked suspicious if they'd gone in together and Steven, not him, had the wet shoulder.

"Something like that," he replied, smirking.

"Hn."

"Do you feel better?"

"Much better… Do I look like I've been crying?" The last thing he needed were pitying looks from everyone in the room as soon as he went back in there.

Ste shook his head. "Poker face as usual, Brady," he said with a smile. "Now get back in there, I think Cheryl could use a hug from her big brother."

"Okay. See ye in there?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder on his way to the door.

"Yeah."

Opening the metal door, he paused and looked at the younger man. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Ste replied, and Brendan nodded, then disappeared back into the hall.

[~]


End file.
